polemical | open post

No, yeah, I think a lot of people — most people, even — approach music that way. They're so concerned with getting famous and making money that they only really write or record what they think is going to sell. There's no point in putting your heart and soul into something that's never going to get any air-time, y'know?

[ Not that Eddie agrees with that, but she can understand where someone's coming from if they think that way. ]

Pretty sure that most bands that release concept albums only do it after they've been famous for a while.

That makes sense, I mean if it's weird and new, who's going to listen to that, right?

[He actually pauses to give that a moment's thought, brow creasing a little once he does] Actually I might, but I'm definitely an outlier, I mean, most people actually know what kind of music they like by now, and I'm still figuring that out.

Right.

[ Except for someone like her, who absolutely peruses album art and picks previously-unknown bands simply off of how cool the front of the cassette looks.

And Chris, apparently, because for all that he's been sheltered his whole life and is best friends with the worst meathead in school for some fucking reason, he's surprisingly open-minded and genuinely nice. It would be deeply annoying if she didn't think he was so cute. ]

Well, you came to the right gal, baby, I got so much music to choose from, we'll find you something that suits. [ Because she can't help but show off when she's got someone who seems to appreciate it sitting right in front of her, she does a little riff on the guitar that's both showy and objectively kind of cool, though personally she thinks the effect is dulled slightly by the fact that she's playing acoustic.

Be impressed, Chris. She likes that. ]

[Oh he's definitely impressed, and not just because he's got the musical capabilities of a tree stump himself.

Okay maybe like 60-75% that part, but he's still impressed so it still counts. Mostly he's just trying to figure out how she gets her fingers to move like that.]

Yeah? You think you've got me all figured out already? Or do you think this is going to take some time? I might have to come back and see what else you've got?

[ Mostly through lots and lots of practice. But that's not quite as sexy as saying it's some kind of diving inspiration, so she won't tell.

She grins at him, sharp enough to show off the dimple that carves into one cheek, and tries not to fluster too much at the insinuation that Chris is going to come hang out again. They're friends. Of course he's going to hang out with her. Just because they don't hang out at school doesn't mean they don't hang out ever. She knows she represents a safe place to explore the things his mom and his friends don't approve of. That's all that this is. ]

You might have to come back a lot. Who knows how long it'll take before we find the sound that lights you up inside.

[He can't help but smile in return, mostly because hers is infectious in the best way, but also because nobody's made him that kind of offer before, either and that's enough to light him up inside, at least a little bit.] Yeah? Sounds like we've got our work cut out for us, then.

[His head tilts a little, considering] And I'm not sure yet if you're already doing good at this because you're tipsy or if you'll be even better at figuring it out if you're sober.

[ She groans out a laugh, strumming a haphazard chord down the guitar that only sounds a little bit discordant. ]

Please tell me my shitty playing of The Beatles wasn't enough for you.

[He laughs, shaking his head] That's not what I meant, I mean, or maybe it is? [Another head shake, still smiling, just leaning back on his hands again] I just meant figuring out what I might like to listen to, that's what you're good at, and I can't wait to find out if it's because you're tipsy or in spite of it, you know?

[He's pretty sure it's in spite of, and she'll be better at it sober, but he's not sure.]

You're so easy to please, Chrissy, [ she accuses with a fond shake of her head as she looks down at the guitar in her lap, but it's not enough to mask the pleased flush that's pinking the apples of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. ] You really gotta raise your standards if I'm clearing the bar that easy.

[ It seems pretty damn criminal, to Eddie, that it's so simple to make Chris smile. He has friends! Don't they care about him? About his preferences? Don't they know what his favorite shirt is, or what song makes him roll his eyes, or what flavor makes him want to hurl? Haven't they all crowded around a TV set or a boom box to explore something new together and then spent the subsequent hour dissecting it?

Don't they know him? ]

[They don't, not really, but it's hardly their fault, considering that who he is at school is who they think he actually is, since he's only allowed to attend approved extracurricular activities and gatherings, and parties only if Jason's also going so they can keep each other out of trouble.

Which really doesn't work as well as Laura Cunningham thinks it does, and usually just means that Chris comes home early from the few post-game parties he attends because he doesn't like being there in general.

Jason knows him best, but will still claim that Chris' favorite color is green, because they've always had the same favorite color, and Chris won't bother to correct him because they've never had the same favorite color because his favorite color has always been blue.

Right at the moment, however, he just smiles again, shaking his head] I feel like I should probably object to being called easy, but I'm not gonna.

[ Of course his favorite color is blue. He has that blue shirt he wears when he's feeling good about himself — not that Eddie really knows Chris well enough to know when he's feeling good about himself, or that she watches him enough to be able to tell, of course — after he's beaten a race or whatever, when his mood is more ebullient and his personality shines through the polite facade he's so good at wearing.

Eddie's more of an autumn, or something, but she can admit to being pretty fond of blue when Chris is wearing it. It looks nice with his hair. ]

I'm still amazed you don't object to Chrissy, [ she admits with a little laugh, looking up at him through her lashes like she's worried this time he does actually object but he's just being nice by not saying anything. It doesn't look like it, and instead of letting herself wallow in her uncertainty, she forces her brain to move the fuck on already.

Straightening her back, she squares her shoulders and tosses her head again to get her hair out of her face, then pins him with a look. ] Okay. Gimme a request. What else do you want to hear?

That's because you mean it. [His brow furrows] Or don't mean it, I don't know, whichever one means you're not using it just to get a rise out of me or to be mean.

[That's really what it comes down to, she's using it because it amuses her, but not necessarily at his expense, at least, that's what he thinks is going on, basically it hasn't been derogatory any of the times she's used it and that's the important part.

He runs a hand through his hair to pull it back from his face as he snorts softly at the follow-up question] I mean we literally just established that I know fuck-all about music, so, I don't know. What's the song you like playing most?

I would never call you something I don't mean, [ she promises, conveniently not letting herself think of the times she's called him babe off-handed, or sunshine, or whatever embarrassing pet name that rolls off her tongue. She does do it to a lot of people, that much is true, but Chris tends to get her best repertoire. Better not examine that too closely.

She can't help but widen her eyes at him when he swears, but she does manage to resist the urge to gasp theatrically. Chris' reputation as a goody-two-shoes isn't exactly something he chose for himself, she knows that much, and she doesn't want to make him self-conscious.

His question stumps her and she frowns a little, chewing on the edge of her thumbnail for a minute before shrugging. ] I'm a little too drunk to manage that, [ she admits with a huffed laugh, thinking of the songs she's currently trying to learn, the stuff she plays with the guys, the hard rock and the heavy metal with its driving rhythms and screaming melodies. She definitely wants Chris to listen to that too, at some point, but right now, she doesn't think she has it in her to pick apart all the threads of what she likes to show him the palatable stuff first. ]

Usually when I'm in this mood I tend to stick to mellow shit. [ Her fingers start to pluck at the strings almost of their own volition, something soft and gentle vibrating through the instrument cradled in her lap. She loops through the same few phrases a few times almost like she's working up the courage to sing, but then she starts, her voice equally soft and gentle beneath the grit and gravel she's developed through years of smoking more than she should. ]

[Once again he listens with something like total fascination, utterly rapt again and it's only when she finishes that he smiles again] That's Bob Dylan, right?

[He shakes his head, biting the corner of his lip before explaining] It's stupid, how I know, but um, one of the youth pastors put Forever Young on the summer camp sing along list one year, and some of the parents had a huge meltdown about it, because Dylan's a communist or something, but he's definitely immoral and we were all going to end up going to hell just because of one song.

But a complaint like that, getting the pastor disbarred, which is lawyers, but same thing, basically a step below excommunication which is stripping him of all his titles and whatever [he shakes his head again realizing he's going off on a side tangent] basically to get that done they had to prove to the diocese, that's the church higher-ups, that this pastor was teaching false doctrines or something.

[His laugh is dry as he runs a hand through his hair again] So there's my mom, sitting at the kitchen table in any free time she has for a week solid with a rosary to protect her, listening to Bob Dylan with this little portable tape deck, and copying down lyrics from the liner notes, or transcribing them herself when there aren't any, just to prove her point.

Yeah. [ Eddie resists the urge to tell Chris that she knows what excommunication means, because while she hasn't gone to church in well over a decade, she reads a lot of books and most of those are high fantasy novels, and it's not an uncommon concept there. ]

Doesn't your mom have a job? [ she asks in wonderment, though she realizes as soon as it's out of her mouth that it's a stupid question. Chris may not be Steve Harrington levels of rich, but he's definitely a perfect picture of middle-class suburbia, and of course his mom doesn't work. She's a homemaker, naturally, one who's so involved in her children's lives that it feels incredibly unhealthy to this outsider.

But then again, Eddie's mom is dead and her dad is in jail and she lives alone with her confirmed bachelor of an uncle, so what the hell does she know what moms are supposed to act like? ]

My mom loved Dylan. I don't really remember a lot of her, but I remember she would sing to me all the time. She wasn't always great with the words, [ she huffs a little laugh, shaking her head, ] which I only discovered later when Wayne heard me sing some of her favorite songs, but that's alright.

[ Most of Eddie's memories of her mother are tinged heavily with the despair of the cancer that took her, but she does have some good ones. Wayne had a few photos tucked away that Eddie had never seen before, of her mom before she was born, of her as a baby, of her perched on the lap of a woman with her same curly hair as they both laughed. She misses her, of course she does, but her mom has the benefit of something Eddie doesn't: an early death means people only remember the good things about you. When people talk about her now, all they say is how tragic her illness was, what a pity that it struck her down when her daughter was so young, how unfair life could be. Nobody talked about her long bouts of melancholy, of the deep and dark moods that would come over her and leave her all but comatose in her bed, of the fights she and Eddie's no-good father would get into. Sometimes Eddie thinks she should die young, too, so people don't say bad shit about her any more, but she has too much to prove. She's not going to give up that easy. ]

[He shakes his head at the question] Nope, I mean, sometimes she takes in seamstressing, fixing hems or zippers or whatever that other people can't or don't want to, but it's not like it's an actual job, it's just so she can feel superior to the ladies who can't, but hiding behind being helpful.

Anyway [he waves a hand in front of his face as if to brush that aside, because while he knows on some level that his mother's level of control isn't normal, he's not to the point of being able to say so himself.] he was only here for the summer, and then got moved on to another congregation, hopefully one that didn't try to make him lose his job over what's actually a pretty good song.

[He'd listened to it a couple times, and can remember the tune if not all the words, but he remembers it felt hopeful, if a little sad.

He goes quiet at the rest, just listening, taking in the information, brow creasing a little before saying anything, not sure if he should] That's a good connection to have though, right?

Well. [ Eddie thinks Chris' mom is a fucking dragon, but she's aware of social niceties enough to not actually say that, at least not to his face. Maybe to someone else's though, but who'd listen to her complain about the mother of one of the popular jocks like she has any stake in what his home life is like? Her friends are supportive, but even they have limits, and her weird insistence that Chris is actually kind of cool is met with skeptical glances at the best of times. ] That's a useful skill to have, mending. Fixing shit when it breaks is important.

[ Technically Eddie can sew too, but she doesn't think her slap-dash approach to mending would hold up against Mrs Cunningham's. Eddie read once in a library book that the Japanese will mend broken porcelain with a gold-plated glue or something so that the cracks are visible even after it's all back together, and she's taken that philosophy to heart. She never worries about matching thread colors or hiding patches. If she has to sew something up, she's going to let it tell a story.

Also, it's way easier to do it that way, so that helps. ]

Yeah. [ She's never come right out and said it, not to Chris' face, but Hawkins is a small town. Everyone knows the story of how Eddie came to wash up on her uncle's doorstep, his quiet life torn apart by the addition of a brat that wasn't even his but had nowhere else to go. It pisses her off that everyone thinks they know exactly what happened, but it's also kind of nice not to have to explain. Even if people get the details wrong, enough of the truth is there. ] Just wish she didn't like so much folk, though. [ She laughs a little, and sure, it's mostly forced, but she doesn't want the mood to sour. ] Then again, Wayne pretty much only listens to old-man country, so I suppose it could be worse.

Oh it could definitely be worse, he could genuinely enjoy devotional music.

[Truthfully he's not sure if his mother actually enjoys the stuff or if she's just convinced herself she does, or it's just some new level of keeping control of the household, but the only times he's seen her even close to being a normal human being is when she's humming along to the Harmonettes or Richard & Judy Lee while sewing or washing dishes.]

Or opera, he could be really into opera, that would be worse than, uh, what was it, 'old-man country'?

[He's biting back a smile even as he says it mostly because he knows that's exactly what she called it, but also because he can't imagine Wayne would have the patience for something like that, especially if it's in Italian or German.]

You wanna know a secret?

[ She grins at him, her hands still on the guitar in her lap as she leans over it like she's going to whisper. Considering it's just the two of them in the entire trailer and they're both sitting on her bed, it's totally unnecessary, but Eddie is nothing if not dramatic, so she indulges in the impulse.

Also, maybe she kind of wants Chris to lean closer to her too. ]

I actually kinda like church music. But like. Real church music. Old church music. Like Gregorian chants and stuff. I think it's kinda cool. And it makes great ambiance for Hellfire sessions.

The chants are cool. [He agrees, easy as anything, because they are and some days he wishes he had that kind of vocal control. He's good enough for choir, but not for solos, and that's about where he wants to be most of the time.]

And now I kind of want to know what story-games you've got going on where Gregorian chants are the right kind of ambiance, but I'm not sure I actually want to know, you know?

[ He shouldn't have said that, if the way her eyes gleam is any indication. ]

Chris. [ She leans even closer, folding over the guitar, and reaches out to take his hands in hers in a fervent grip. ] I will tell you everything.

[Well if she's going to light up like that of course he's going to want to hear more, because her lunchroom rants aside, he does like listening to her talk when she's excited about something.

And truthfully: he likes the lunchroom rants as often as not, because at least she's got an opinion on things. He smiles in return, can't help it, really] I can't promise I'll understand any of it, but I'll definitely listen.

[ They dimple at each other, Eddie's brown eyes practically twinkling as she stares into Chris', and with a squeeze of their clasped hands she launches into a story that, despite being pretty meandering and requiring her to — very reluctantly — let go of Chris so she can shove the guitar into his lap to go scramble across to the cassette player on her desk so she can play the song she's currently talking about, manages to be both comprehensive and simple enough for the layperson to follow.

Eddie's got practice summarizing her stories for the uninitiated, first with Wayne and then with Steve and Nancy and Robin, but it's hard to rein herself in right now. She wants Chris to think she's smart. She wants him to think she's not wasting her time.

She wants him to think she's impressive. ]

[He's a little surprised by having a guitar foisted onto him, but he holds onto it all the same, leaning back on his other hand to watch her move.

As predicted, he doesn't actually understand a lot of it, but he can pick up more via context clues than he thought he was going to be able to, which is definitely down to her skill as a storyteller as much as it is his being able to figure things out.

Finally he just shakes his head] How long does it take to plan something like that out? Or play it?

Oh man. [ She rubs the back of her neck sheepishly, standing in the middle of her room looking like she just crashed back to earth, a little awkward in her uncle's low-slung sweatpants and threadbare shirt. Not that she's uncomfortable in her clothes, or anything, but more like she forgot who and where she was for a moment and suddenly she's back in her body and the edges are a little stiff still. ]

Weeks to plan, definitely. Maybe weeks to play, depending on how often we can meet. And things never go exactly according to plan, y'know, that's half the fun. I can control the world the players go through, but they decide where to go and what to do in it. If I wanted complete control I'd just write novels or something.

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